


What A Gentleman Does

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Desperation, Established Relationship, M/M, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8387659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: In Sniper's van, in the middle of the night, Spy faces a dilemma.





	

When Spy returned to wakefulness, unsure of how long he had dozed, the first thing he became aware of was Sniper’s slumbering form next to him. Radiating cozy heat, Sniper was a substantial, comforting presence in the dark. Even his soft, rhythmic snores threatened to lull Spy back to sleep. Spy smirked at this; when you found even your lover's snores to be soothing, you could be certain that the situation was entirely hopeless. 

Everything would have been perfect, if not for the thing that had roused Spy from sleep: a pang of urgency in his bladder. 

He believed it imperative that he excuse himself without waking Sniper. To disturb his sleep would be impolite. But Spy's stealth had found its match in Sniper's reflexes, and Spy failed, utterly; the moment he scooted himself the slightest bit towards the edge of the mattress, Sniper uttered a bereft grunt, rolled over, and snaked one arm around Spy's waist to draw him close again. 

“ _Mon cher_ ,” Spy whispered, squirming in his grip, “please do not squeeze so hard. I am feeling nature's call.” 

“Should be a jar right there, if you reach down,” Sniper said, half into the pillow, giving absolutely no indication of where “right there” might be. 

Spy scoffed, “You will not recruit me into your filthy lifestyle, forever urinating into the nearest convenient container.” 

“Suit yourself,” Sniper said, and his arm slid away from Spy's body, leaving him to take care of the situation in whatever way he preferred. 

Spy slid off the mattress and out of the upper bunk, onto the floor of the camper. The landing jarred his full bladder; his whole body was now taut with discomfort. It had been much warmer beneath the blankets, and he wished to get back under them as quickly as possible. He considered using the sink, but once again, he feared if he got used to doing such things, he would become a degenerate. The ideal place would be in a proper bathroom in the BLU base, but that would require re-dressing, cloaking, and a long haul back to his destination, during which time he might be seen. His teammates could not know about this clandestine liaison. 

Already when he had woken up, the need to resolve this situation had been intense, and the longer he waited, the harder it was to think. Ultimately, the most convenient option that was not a complete insult to his dignity would be to exit the camper and find a discreet bush close by. That was what a gentleman did in the outdoors. His clothes lay crumpled all over the floor, a testament to the fervent tumble that had taken place earlier in the evening. He could find everything and re-dress, but in the dark it would be an effort. 

He squeezed his thighs together as another wave of urgency overcame him. There was no time. As he was still wearing his watch, he could at least cloak himself, before opening the door and stepping out into the chilly air. The cold night would have been perfectly bearable had he been dressed, but as it was, he shivered as he trotted over to the closest clump of bushes, goosebumps springing up all over his body. He took himself in hand, gently retracting his foreskin before relaxing his pelvic floor muscles and starting his stream. A glance around into all visible windows showed no signs that anyone was still awake at this hour. 

He begged his body to hurry. Cowering against the cold, naked and vulnerable, relieving himself did not feel like much of a relief at all. What an idiot he was; he could have used the sink, just this once, and been finished and asleep in bed by this time. Would that truly have been less dignified than the situation he was in now? 

When at last his stream tapered off, he gave himself a shake and darted back into the camper. He wiped his dusty bare feet on the mat, then realized he hadn’t washed his hands. Priming the sink pump so he could turn on the faucet was a clattering affair, but this was one thing he simply could not sacrifice. He splashed some water on his hands, then wiped them off on the grubby hand towel on the counter – probably soiling them even further, he conceded. But at this point, he didn't care. He could stand discomfort, it was often necessary in his line of work, but he abhorred it; he wanted to be warm and comfortable again, five minutes ago if possible. 

Spy scrambled into the upper bunk and wriggled back under the blankets. Sniper grunted with annoyance, and this time remained on his own side of the bed. “You're letting the cold air under here,” he grumbled. 

“Warm me up, you ungrateful swine,” Spy snapped, shivering under the covers that had gone cold in his absence. “You are my lover, it is your job.” 

“Job?” Sniper snorted derisively. “Drivin' you to the height of bloody ecstasy is the only thing around here that I _ain’t_ doing for money. Call _me_ ungrateful.” Nevertheless, he allowed Spy to grab one of his arms, to be pulled around Spy's body as he maneuvered both of them into a spooning position. Sniper's prick, half-hard from sleep, pressed against Spy's freezing behind. “ _Christ_ ,” he muttered at the chill. “Next time be a man and just use the bloody jar, ya ponce.” 

It was several minutes before Spy and Sniper achieved thermal equilibrium. During this time, Spy snuggled back against Sniper’s furry chest, enjoying the feel of it against his bare shoulders, and considered how much easier it would have been if he had indeed used a jar. He would never admit to even having entertained such a barbaric idea, but he couldn't help but imagine how things would have proceeded if he had: instead of flinging himself bodily out of the warm coziness of Sniper's bed, he would have needed only to lift the blanket a few inches, in order to retrieve the jar and to aim himself into it. Safe and comfortable, he would have been free to savor the visceral, animal pleasure of relieving his straining bladder. Perhaps Sniper would have kept an arm around him, pressing a palm against his belly just above his prick, forcing a more powerful stream from him, which would have made him shudder against Sniper's lean body. 

Just before drifting back to sleep, Spy resolved that the next time he came calling on Sniper late in the evening, he would be sure to bring along a bottle of wine.


End file.
